For Love of Creation
by andreth
Summary: As he stands on the rebuilt tower of Barad-Dur while his armies prepare to leave for Eregion, Annatar Sauron contemplates the desire for creation and the consequences for those who suffer from it; Feanor, Morgoth and Iluvatar, but particularly himself.


He stood upon the high balcony protruding from the turret of the now completed tower. The surrounding lands had been stripped of all resources to aid in the hasty completion of the building, but it had been well worth it. Like the fair form he had chosen for himself, this tower would serve as a means of intimidation for all who looked upon it; a testament to his power. He surveyed the gray, barren lands now choked with dust and decay and felt a slight twinge of disappointment at the loss of what few trees and grasses there had been; but regret was a luxury beyond his means. Any new creation required the sacrifice of previous creations. It was the way of things.   
  
There was a time when his love of creation had been the driving force of his existence; and it had been that love that ultimately led him astray. He had listened to the promises made to him about the endless possibilities for creation in the newly made lands of Arda - possibilities that were being wasted by the One due to his lack of understanding of them. He left the forges of Aulë where he had labored faithfully and joyfully for years unnumbered second only to his master, and placed himself under a new master.   
  
For the servants of Aulë, praise was not something often heard; yet when it was the praise was well deserved and gave a sense of fulfillment. However, in the service of this new master, praise was freely given; although despite its frequency there was little satisfaction derived from it. The reason for that was not discovered until it was far too late. It had been false praise, hollow and meaningless, dispensed for no purpose other than to lead his followers into performing deeds some of them would not otherwise have done.   
  
He had known their deeds were wrong from the beginning, but his new master continued to lure him with the promise of creation, telling him of the need to wrest power from the other Valar. They shared the One's lack of vision and sought to prevent anyone else from using their own powers as they wished. Indeed, it had seemed as though the Valar desired to control everything and cared little for the wants or needs of others. And so he had followed the wishes of his master; each deed growing more immoral than the one before until his life finally reached a point where remorse or repentance were things long left behind.   
  
Creation ceased to be part of his existence and for many years it was filled only with destruction. The anger brought on by the frustration of no longer being able to do that which he loved ate at him, twisting his spirit and causing him to lash out at anything in an attempt to quell the misery that had become his life. Although at times it felt as though the suffering of others gave him pleasure, there was no true joy in it. It was as empty as Morgoth's praise.   
  
'Morgoth,' he said aloud as he stared blankly into the distance. That was something he did find a small measure of joy in; saying the name aloud that he and the others had been forbidden to use in their master's presence. Those who forgot themselves and chanced to call their master anything other than Melkor met with anger in the form of punishment and torture. Though this fair form did not bear the scars of it, his spirit carried the marks of the torture given him the one time he unthinkingly used the name the arrogant Elf had handed down.  
  
Fëanor; there was another whose life had been destroyed by his love of creation; although the Elf received no name of evil in spite of the destruction and death caused by the three jewels created. The Elf had imagined his creations were not cursed merely because they were of light and not of darkness and shadows. A notion soon laid to rest when the light of those creations was quenched by the blood that flowed in the fight to claim them. Fëanor had been reckless in his conceit, capturing a beauty not meant for the Children of Eru. They were too craven not to be overwhelmed by the intensity of the concentrated light of the Two Trees. The desire to possess them followed; the response always seen in those faced with beauty and power that stirred them beyond their comprehension.   
  
His master had suffered from that failing as well; perhaps because Morgoth no longer had the full power of the Ainur by that time, having squandered too much of it. Or perhaps it was because Morgoth was incapable of comprehending anything that was not from his own mind, and wished only to see it destroyed. No doubt he would have eventually destroyed the Silmarils as well, had he not been able to corrupt their power for himself. The strength bound within the Silmarils had been the weakness of them all. So much had been lost to that weakness. Now an Elf of Fëanor's blood had wrought three more creations of arrogance; and these would once again bring about much suffering when the battle for their possession began.   
  
His hands gripped the stone railing of the balcony in anger at the thought of his years of work in Eregion having been for nothing. His disappointment had been made all the greater by the brief happiness he had found in those lands. Initially, he thought being turned away from Lindon was a significant setback; but instead, it had turned out to be a fortunate turn of events. Working with the Elven smiths in the forges as he taught them brought back a feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment that he had not known since his days in Valinor; and his long suppressed love of creation once again stirred within him. The joy it brought made him once again consider the pardon offered to him by the Valar.   
  
When it was first offered so soon after Morgoth's defeat, the thought of returning to face the punishment Manwë would set upon him introduced fear in his heart for the first time in many years. Morgoth's treachery ensured that the consequences would be especially dire for him if he chose to return. No doubt Manwë would be very harsh in the punishment meted out; his judgement colored by having been betrayed by Morgoth and what had followed: the destruction of the Trees and the theft of the Silmarils. True, he had not fought in the War of Wrath; instead defying Morgoth and leaving Beleriand all together, fleeing far to the south. But he felt that would have little merit in the eyes of the Valar in light of the many evils he had committed during his time in Morgoth's service. His hesitation was also brought on by the nagging suspicion that he would be unable to bow to the wishes of the Valar and subjugate himself to them. He had spent too long wielding the power given him as Morgoth's lieutenant; and now the power of being own master and assuming command of what remained of the dark armies. He did not agree with the Valar, and did not view the world and its machinations from their perspective. What they saw as evil, he saw as progress and change by whatever means necessary.   
  
So he once again turned his mind away from the pardon of the Valar; but still his love of creation had been stirred again. Now he would use it to his own ends, to achieve enough power that he could wield his love of creation in these lands as he saw fit and answer to no one. The creation of the Seven and the Nine had gone exactly as he planned and he would be able to make full use of them; but his plans for the Three were ruined by Celebrimbor's betrayal. The arrogance of Fëanor had been passed down to Celebrimbor and the Elven rings had been wrought by the hands of the Elf alone. His will bore no power over the Three and so he had been forced to make the Master Ring.   
  
He looked at the golden circle on the hand still tightly gripping the balcony rail. The decision to forge the ring was one not easily made. He had watched Morgoth pour his power into his followers; changing their bodies and enhancing their powers until none was left. Before the end came, his master could not even leave the fortress of Angband. He was forced to remain in hiding, defended by the creatures for which he had sacrificed his power. To bind so much of his power into the ring had not been something he wished to do, but there was no choice. If he did not, the Elven rings would be beyond his control and he would rather face the Void than allow that to happen. He had sacrificed everything to achieve this power and these lands were his - he would not allow any of them to be ruled by a group of exiled Elves.   
  
Now so much of his power rested in the golden band on the index finger of his right hand; the same finger on which the Elves wore their rings of marriage. And why not? This ring would bind the Elves to him; and it signified the one to whom he was bound, as well. The one in whom his ultimate act of creation would be brought to fruition. Soon he would take a permanent form that would enable him to create true life, something his former master could not do. Morgoth had searched for the Imperishable Flame that would bring with it the ability to create life, but to no avail.   
  
_Was this the reason Fëanor sired seven children _he thought suddenly _to appease a love of creation? _  
  
It did not appear to have been enough to satisfy Fëanor's drive for creation; he could only dare to think it would be enough to appease his own.  
  
It was his secret hope that the creation of this life would provide light to help relieve the unending darkness within him. He looked out over the barren lands again, but did not see them. He looked inward, back to a memory of sitting near the banks of the Gwalthó and watching the moon. What was it she had said to him?   
  
_Darkness always craves the light, searching for some sense of fulfillment, yet the darkness is never sated. _  
  
He had pointed to the night sky as he replied. _The darkness and the light are not always at odds. Look at the darkness of the sky illuminated by the light of the stars. One is required to fully appreciate the beauty of the other. They exist together peacefully. _  
  
At the time, he said it only for her benefit, paying little attention to the meaning of the words; but now he hoped there was some truth in them. He did not look to rid himself of the darkness, for he was far beyond that point now, merely to find a small measure of relief from it. But perhaps this was something that was never satisfied. This love of creation always seemed to bring about unhappiness in one form or another - from the creation of Arda by the One, to the acts of Morgoth and Fëanor, and his own dark acts throughout his life.... all brought on by a love of creation. Perhaps it was not even a love of creation so much as it was an obsession with it, and obsessions were never satisfied. The more they were fed, the larger they grew. There was a fine line between love and obsession...a line that was sometimes hidden from those who stood too close to it.   
  
His musings were ended by the sensation of another person approaching. There was only one who would dare to approach him from behind without warning, and even they should know better. The familiarity would have to be dealt with. He glanced briefly to his side. The dark-haired man who now stood there barely reached his shoulder. He scowled as the man spoke.   
  
'The companies have assembled, my lord, and they await your command. We are ready to move on your orders,' the man said, looking up at the golden giant next to him.   
  
'Very well, but I will give you no praise for your efforts. Instead I will do you the favor of giving you fair warning - never enter my presence unannounced again. The next time will result in highly unpleasant consequences,' he said and shook his head. 'You overstep your boundaries as the Mouth of Sauron.' He paused and frowned at the man. 'Where did that name come from? I assume it is one you fashioned for yourself.'   
  
'Yes, my lord, it is,' the man said and bowed his head respectfully. 'I thought others would pay more heed to my words if they knew whose words I spoke.'   
  
The statement was met with a cold glare. 'Just take care not to forget who is the servant and who is the master. The only trust I have for you arises from my knowledge of your greed and your fear of me. Greed is something you will never overcome; but should you ever reach a point where your ego outstrips your fear of me, I will have no more trust in you and no further use for you as well. I always dispose of things I have no use for; do I make myself clear?' His contemplative mood had left him feeling somewhat generous. He usually issued no warnings, only consequences.   
  
'Yes, my lord,' the man replied with his head still lowered, 'your meaning is perfectly clear. I will never forget whom it is I serve.'   
  
'Good,' he nodded in satisfaction. 'Have you finished the writings I asked for?'   
  
'They are nearly finished, my lord,' the man said and risked an upward glance, sensing the change in his master's mood. 'If I am allowed to work on them, I will have them completed over the course of a few days.'   
  
'You will have the opportunity to finish your work during the march,' he said with a stern look. 'Bring it to me immediately upon completion. I will need as much time to study it as possible. And you are certain you can give me detailed information concerning the Númenorean navy and the inner workings of the King's court?'   
  
'Yes, my lord, I have no doubt as to the thoroughness of my knowledge,' the man said with confidence. 'My family has been on the King's Council for thousands of years, and I myself sat on it for more than a hundred before leaving Númenor for Middle Earth. With my information, you will have complete knowledge of the King of Númenor and the forces the king has at his disposal, Lord Sauron.'   
  
His glance did not soften as he replied, 'For your sake, I hope you are correct. Ereinion has been cementing relations with Númenor for centuries now and I have little doubt he will call for their help once this war has begun.' His frown deepened with his next words. 'What news of my wife? Have you found her?'   
  
The man's head lowered quickly again, knowing his master's mood would change once again. 'No, my lord, although I am certain now that she is no longer in Lindon. She appears to have left shortly after Celebrimbor's visit to Gil-galad.'  
  
'Then that is another piece of information Celebrimbor will provide for me. Before I am finished with him, he will have told me everything I wish to know.' His hands on the balcony rail tightened once more before he released his grip completely. 'It is time. Ready the troops and give the order to move out. We leave for Eregion.'   
  
He cast a final stony glance on the man at his side, who was hurrying to keep up with his long strides, and then he disappeared into the darkness of the tower. Gone to retrieve the creations that had rekindled his love.   
  
  
  
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This is a challenge entry, and also a future chapter of an extremely long story I'm writing; unfortunately, I couldn't remove all references to the story it came from and still have the theme of it make sense. You'll have to forgive the references to his wife in there. (Although she doesn't consider herself to be his wife, which is why he can't find her!) I thought it was appropriate for the challenge and also, I'd hoped to get some opinions on whether or not I had a decent grasp of Annatar/Sauron's character. The full story is here on FF, A Veiled Light, and, if you're over 18, the NC-17 version can be found at /Sauron is a fascinating villain.


End file.
